


like the night waiting for the day

by bijou (mar_b)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blood and Injury, Day 1: Light|Dark, Elezen Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Porn with some kernels of a plot, Shameless Smut, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Vampire AU, emetwol week 2020, wol is vibin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26457121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mar_b/pseuds/bijou
Summary: He’s kept her for months now, knowing full well he shouldn’t have.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45





	like the night waiting for the day

The time has passed. 

For several things, Hades muses. To correct this. To finish this. 

Golden eyes shine in the dark backdrop of the bedroom, surveying the length of his meal bathed in moonlight. Or what _should_ have been his one time meal.

She sleeps sweetly. Peacefully. The bedsheets tangle with her body - covering all but a leg, her arms and everything above her clavicles. It calls to him, her warmth - her light. 

He’s kept her for months now, knowing full well he shouldn’t have. Struggling to convert her and too weak to continue on existence without that resplendent taste, he broke the rules. There is no role for her in this darker world and yet he’s made one just for her. The rest of his coven are none the wiser and something about his secret makes every drop of her blood all the more satisfying; the knowledge that she’s his and his alone.

Not that he benefits from this selfishly. 

Hades moves towards the bed, slowly taking one glove off at a time and depositing atop a dresser. He moves with careful footsteps to not stir her from her slumber. The nature of his being assures his movements are as quiet as the shadows themselves, yet she became aware of him in a way that others had not. Perhaps that’s what piqued his curiosity in the first place. Perhaps it should have been a warning for him as much as his nature should have been for her. Even then, he ignored it.

From this distance, Hades hears the beat of her pulse, a steady rhythm that has found itself in his favor to keep beating. He licks his lips. Dark brown hair covers her neck, but he can envisage the movement of blood regardless. 

Her chest rises and falls in steady, melodic succession; Hades isn’t sure how long he watches her for. He’s lost in the small pauses at the apex of inhalation, unconsciously matching her rhythm. Her eyelids flutter - dreaming, perhaps - and a small part of him craves for that time of hers too. 

Carefully, he sits next to her, the plush bed indenting itself with his weight. He savors the heat of her skin as his hand feather up her exposed calf. He can _feel_ her heartbeat now, the flow of blood under his fingertips, stuttering as he places pressure on the capillaries, forcing it down other routes to complete the circuit. It sings to him; a wanton siren’s call and Hades acknowledges that he’s on a ship to wreck, no matter the outcome.

His fingers roam up her thigh, thumb rubbing over the soft skin connecting to her hip. Her breath hitches for a moment, before settling once more. He lowers his head and takes in her scent like a predator to his prey. Her scent of her sex mingles with it, hidden underneath thin bedsheets, but persuading him to partake in other activities he indulges with her. 

Hades moves in closer to the center of the bed, anticipating her wakefulness after. And she does, with a start - breath sucked in and jolt of her limbs. 

He murmurs a half-truth: “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Her heart beats wildly and settles as she reorients herself, blinking the bleariness away. “Did you sleep enough?” 

She holds the front of her head as if the slumber was deeper than she anticipated. She sits up and leans against the headboard. The covers fall to her lap, exposing the rest of her upper body and he feels like a man absent of drink. His eyes take in the sight greedily, how that café au lait-colored skin is somehow unmarred from his indulgences. A sliver of possession wishes that more than one marking could appear on her besides that first bite.

Leaning on his indulgences, he walks his fingers up her leg until the bedsheets reveal his mark on her hip. He traces it, feeling the slight indentations. Her heartbeat picks up in anticipation: a learned reaction at this point.

“What time is it?” she asks, almost slurred. 

“Just a little past three,” he whispers. 

It takes a moment for her mind to catch up and she inhales sharply. “How did the … meeting go?” 

Hades hums, still playing with the feel of her skin and the warmth and the danger inside him is moments away from opening his mouth and feasting-

“About as well as can be expected,” he answers and looks at her then. From a well of willpower he can’t name, he pulls back his hand and sits straighter to speak with her properly. “They accuse me of behaving abnormally, I provide evidence that no such thing has happened. Nabriales in particular seems to be convinced that I’m withholding something - he says that I have changed. I tell the rest of them that hunches are hardly an excuse to censure me.” His tone turns petulant then, wandering hands finding her warmth again. “As if I’ve ever given them reason to assume that _I_ would do something to endanger the rest of them.” 

A laugh, small and restrained, comes from her. “But isn’t it the truth?” 

“Hush. I won’t have you coming for me too.” He lifts the covers from the rest of her, smugly rejoicing in the state of her undress, and moves himself to be better situated between her legs. Both his hands slide up her legs to the crook behind her knees, his hands contrasting her skin, coaxing them to bend. “Unless…” he starts, playful with his words. “You haven’t betrayed me yet - or have you?” He tugs her body with ease to lie down and her legs part further. He can feel his impatience growing from the scent. 

“I’m sure you would’ve known by now or else I wouldn’t be here sleeping soundly like a baby.” Unaware of what she does to him, she struggles to keep her laughter from lacing her words. 

Hades hovers over her, hooded eyes once again drinking in the sight of her. “How am I to know? What if you’ve pulled the wool over my eyes?” 

She laughs in earnest then while working with the buttons of his shirt. “Me? Trick the great Emet-Selch? You must be exceedingly parched to make such wild allegations.” 

“Quite.” 

Before she can answer, he flips both their bodies over and positions her to straddle his face. Yes, she has the right of it, he’s quite parched, but this thirst goes beyond the typical thirst for the lifeblood of mere mortals. He craves the warmth of her skin, the taste of her sex, the sound of her cries as he tongues repeatedly in between her folds. 

“Hades-!” she struggles to say. “Wait-” 

Eventually the feel of his ministrations take precedence in her mind and body. Her hips start moving on their own. She grasps at the headboard for stability, arching her body over him. He sucks on her clit, bites it softly, and laps the juices coming from her sex. He grips down on her thighs and her breath quickens. She grasps at her own breast, feeling her climax approach as his tongue flattens to feast himself on all of her, inside her and out. The muscles in her legs tense, she stills, and nails scratch on the wood of her headboard as she reaches her orgasm. 

He makes quick work of his clothing, disrobing his vest, shirt, and trousers all before she can catch her breath while lying on her back. 

Hades licks his lips once more as his fingers play with the wet folds of her sex. He does this intentionally, continuing with his theatrics to bemoan the amount of trust he’s placed on her. “My dear,” he says over her mewls, relishing in the way she palms her forehead and rocks her hips - as if it’s already too much for her to bear - “Do you really - give proper thought - of the trust - I place with you?” He pauses between phrases to drop kisses on her body until he reaches her breast. He is sloppier here, open-mouthed, wet, and demanding as he teases her nipple to a peak.

Her body looks as if it tried to physically pause in thought, but his fingers would not allow her the luxury. “Yes-!” she exclaims, vague in which stimulation she responds to. Regardless, he rewards her with another finger inside her as he bites her breast, allowing his fangs to graze the delicate skin. She writhes under him from the ecstasy, the scent of her blood coming off her like incense. Her hands comb through his hair and tugs at it as another finger thrusts into her. 

Out of all the mortals, thralled or not, he wonders if _she’s_ his favorite. Her responsiveness to his touch excites him, as the walls around his fingers tighten while he hardens. She calls out his name like a sweet prayer, in between heady breaths. He doesn’t relent. Out of nostalgia, he finds his place on her body, the small indents on her hip, kisses it once before he sinks his teeth into her, breaking the skin. There is no audible pain that he perceives in her cry - and even if there was, the natural endorphin response soon allays any worries of harming her. His head swims with the taste of her lifeblood. He savors every note; she is sweetness - richness without excess. She’s a ripe fruit that never sours, just his vintage of wine.

But he only samples a taste. He’s only bitten her hip for nostalgia’s sake, for the time - months ago - where he met her and stained the lace-white dress with her blood. He still laments the spilled blood of that night. Too much wasted before he could truly appreciate the delicate bouquet.

She’s mentioned before, some night - weeks after the first bite - how she enjoys his dogged persistence. He turns her body over, hand over her hip as a pisspoor bloodstopper. He positions the head of his cock in the readiness of her cunt. He slides his hardened dick in between her folds to coat himself with her. She takes it as teasing and pleads that he continue. 

Still, he lets himself linger in this moment, absorbing everything happening around him - from the feel of her hot cunt, the thrumming of her heart in double time as she struggles to articulate the ways in which she’d serve him. Her words stumble and trip over themselves in her haste to find the combination that will encourage him to go on. 

He smirks, quietly laughing to himself at the display, but from the way her body shivers, she’s heard him. 

“Please,” she manages, her tongue briefly swiping her lower lip.

Hades slides into her with agonizing and measured thrust. He licks his palm stained with her blood and he feels _alive_ , as much as he can be in this state. She’s warmth, and light, and _life._ He pulls out of her just as slow and enters her again, progressively picking up pace. Sweat beads on his chest and on her back that suddenly he can’t help his thirst. 

He grabs a tuft of her hair, tugging her to a more straight-back position. He arches over her, steadily fucking her from behind. His grunts grow louder as her scent begins to overwhelm him and she looks over her shoulder, eyes gleaming in those beautiful brown eyes of hers, and parts her hair for him, exposing her neck. He grins wide enough to reveal his fangs. 

“Good girl,” he praises and she grips around him even tighter. His hand paints her body red as he grips her breast, toying with her nipple in between his index and middle finger. Her blood is incredible in this state: hot to the point of almost burning, brimming with lust and excitement and pleasure. He feasts on her while she comes again and again and until he is spent within her. She whines when his fingers drop down to her clit, slowly rolling over the nub in lazy patterns. Her pulse is weaker now, and he gingerly places her on the bed as he pulls out, her legs trembling. Her breath comes in little gasps and puffs, but she manages to turn her head to watch him with one dark eye. Drying blood coagulates around her neck like a lecherous necklace and her pink tongue pokes out to lick a line that had travelled along her chin. 

When she falls asleep once more, he lingers in thought, bare and red-handed. Standing before the other Twelve when he should’ve been the one passing the judgement stays with him and the reality of this _thing_ he has with her - that it was worth _lying_ about. Is he a selfish lover because of how much he takes from her? Or perhaps it was the opposite: her willingness, her want to please him, her durability - his little warrior - it wasn’t the strongest reason he wanted to keep her in this state, but it certainly gave pause to thought. There was an honesty to her character unlike other mortals he had known. He would rather go on than admit that he’s anxious at the prospect that her personality would be lost if he transformed her or her place at his side as a thrall would feel less sincere. There isn’t any way of being absolutely certain.

Outside the door, he’s a predator and she’s his prey and Hades knows there will come a time when his hand will be forced whether he’s prepared to do so or not. 

Currently, he’s content watching the color return to her cheeks. Like the night waiting for the day. 

**Author's Note:**

> ana commissioned lei to draw for my birthday and it doesnt deserve to be dirtied up by my writing. ana helped a lot though she doesnt wanna admit it. 
> 
> here's the bookclub :D   
> https://discord.gg/w4Vkdd7X
> 
> https://twitter.com/stupidsexyhades/status/1305314409091342337?s=20


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